


gilded tombs do worms enfold

by violaceum_vitellina_viridis



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Fire, Gen, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25197871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violaceum_vitellina_viridis/pseuds/violaceum_vitellina_viridis
Summary: I used to be a princess.Renfri leaves Blaviken.
Comments: 30
Kudos: 53
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #004





	gilded tombs do worms enfold

_I used to be a princess._

Funny, how even when she was on the run, she could be found so easily. Could be Stregobor’s doing, of course, but she couldn’t imagine _him_ wanting her to know this.

The letter shakes in her hand. She casts it into the stream, thinking of Geralt and his poetic words about monsterhood and living. Damn him for all of it, _damn him_ for being _right._ Damn him for looking at her and being the first to really see her since her mother’s death.

She leaves Blaviken in a cloud of dust, without her men, and doesn’t look back.

* * *

The castle looks the same as it always has, the same as its been since it was built by her great-grandfather. Despite the stone walls and the rising towers remaining the same, Renfri can see the destruction wrought, torn banners and broken ramparts and wet ash.

A single guard stands at the crooked gates, shaking in his ill-fitting armor as Renfri rides up.

She dismounts easily and allows the horse to wander where it will, snuffling around looking for sweetgrass. “What happened here?” she asks the guard.

The letter had been vague, signed by a member of her father’s council she only vaguely remembered. _Misfortune has befallen the crown of Creyden,_ it had said, which could mean anything from a case of the sniffles to another fucking Convergence, as far as Renfri was concerned.

“There was a fire,” the guard said, voice shaking as much as he was. “Miss…?”

“Princess Renfri of Creyden,” she answers, stomach turning at the use of the title. She hasn’t used it or even heard it used for years. Not since she’d killed Aridea’s thug in the woods just east of here.

“ _Oh!_ ” The guard suddenly stands up a little taller, still shaking – she wonders if maybe he’s got a condition, or if he’s really just that cowardly – and inclines his head. “Your Highness. The council said – ”

“I don’t particularly give a fuck what the council said,” Renfri interrupts. “Is it safe to go inside?” She gestures to the gates.

“I – yes, Your Highness – ”

“Is anyone still _here_?”

“No, Your Highness, but – ”

Renfri shoves past him. “Run along and tell someone _I’m_ here, won’t you?”

Even having been gone for so many years, the castle is familiar. She wouldn’t call it _home_ – it hasn’t been a home since her mother’s death – but it’s recognizable, easily traversed, even with all of the destruction. This was no accidental fire, Renfri is sure, and she suspects her half-brother, Aridea’s precious eldest son.

After all, he’d been the one to gouge out that maid’s eyes. The one to kill the canary and the puppies, the one who tried to poison their younger sisters. Of course, Aridea blamed Renfri for all of it; she blamed Renfri for everything, bitter that her own children had no right to the throne, bitter that her pride and joy was a lunatic. It was why she’d called Stregobor, why she’d made up some wild story about that mirror and its prophecies.

She’d seen that mirror’s prophecies for herself. There had been nothing about the Black Sun, nothing about Renfri. Just convoluted, complicated stories about the future, about children and crowns and fires.

Funny, that.

The courtyard is almost completely destroyed, gardens ripped up and trees felled, the fountain in the center cracked through. Not the kinds of things that happen with a simple, accidental fire.

She wonders if Aridea died in the fire, or if she met the same fate Renfri’s mother had, when her father got bored. He’d always loved Renfri, yes, but he’d never had any sense of morality and no brains, either. Certainly, the fire killed _him;_ the council never would have contacted her if he was still breathing. Likely it killed Aridea’s children, too, because while they were not legitimate heirs, they were _preferable_. She’s an outlaw and a murderer, never mind _why_ – the common people wouldn’t give a lick of thought to her reasons, just her actions alone. 

Wandering the halls brings back memories, some good, most bad. In her mind’s eye, she can see her mother walking the corridors, transposed over Aridea doing the same. Her half-siblings as toddlers, tottering alongside maids and wet nurses. The bedroom that was hers is bare, stripped of any evidence of her existence; it’s not likely that there’s anything left to denote her presence here. Aridea would have seen to that quickly, once she had run away.

Her father’s rooms were mostly untouched by the fire, but the intentional destruction – ripped tapestries, blood on the walls, shattered glass all over the floor – speaks to this being the actual epicenter of the incident. As she looks around and sees exactly which tapestries are torn, where there’s blood splatter, she becomes convinced it was her half-brother who did this.

Probably did the world a favor, assuming he took himself out in the process.

Near the bed, her father’s sword stands against a pile of splintered wood that was originally a chest. Hanging from the hilt, as if placed there for her to discover, is his crown.

 _Her_ crown, now, assuming the Koviri crown honors her right to succession, as Fredefalk’s only legitimate (possibly only _remaining_ ) heir.

The gold and jewels in that crown match her mother’s brooch perfectly.

* * *

Thyssen and his council are not thrilled about her return nor her right to the crown of Creyden, but there’s not much they can rightfully do aside from crown her.

After all, the only remaining option for succession is a distant cousin that may or may not be alive; aside from that, Thyssen would have to rule Creyden himself until one of his children came of age. While other arrangements could theoretically be made, Renfri is present and she is simple. So, with the promise of her father’s council to _control her,_ she’s crowned.

The coronation is a small and incredibly boring affair, held in the early morning in Kovir. Despite being so early and not terribly important to the people here, there _is_ a crowd; people love a show, after all, and there are many who still can’t believe that _Shrike_ is being crowned ruler of Creyden.

But she is, and she hears the hush of the crowd when the balding officiant announces her as _Princess Renfri, vassal queen of Creyden._ She looks steadily out at them, face impassive. Though all of them are looking at her in some fashion, in awe or horror or inexplicable glee, there’s only one person who is truly _looking_.

She meets his eyes, and he grins, genuine and soft, the morning light catching his golden eyes, turning silver hair into a halo.

_You can leave Blaviken and finally live. You choose, Princess._


End file.
